


Completely Ordinary

by AidaRonan



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Magic, M/M, Nerd Bucky Barnes, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Team as Family, Weaponized cacti, Werewolf Bucky Barnes, Werewolf Hunters Hydra, witch steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 06:11:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17699123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AidaRonan/pseuds/AidaRonan
Summary: Werewolf Bucky Barnes has been running for years. Ever since Hydra started hunting him, he's been moving from place to place, never calling anywhere home for too long. When he meets Steve Rogers, the owner of Black Magic Coffee in his new temporary hometown of Ordinary, Texas, Bucky finds himself wishing he could actually put down roots.





	1. Completely Ordinary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PerfectlyImperfect42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerfectlyImperfect42/gifts).



> Most of the plot comes courtesy of [PerfectlyImperfect42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerfectlyImperfect42) who won this story in the MTH auction. I had a lot of fun with this though and added a few little bits and happy accidents of my own. 
> 
> Thank you, PerfectlyImperfect42. I hope you enjoy it!

Their too-familiar scents hit him right before the shot rang out, the echo bouncing off the walls of the nearby buildings. The strange thing was that for a split second, the sound hurt worse than the bullet, the loud crack and its echoes like hammers to the wolf’s hearing.

It reminded him of fireworks, that day a few years back when the full moon and the 4th had been close enough that he’d caught the giant booms during the shift. He hadn’t killed a single thing that night, spending it shivering under a dumpster somewhere in Delaware instead, his paws up over his ears.

For a few seconds after the gun went off, the wolf heard nothing but ringing. Then, his own whimpering followed by the voices.

“Yeah, this is Rollins. I think we hit him.”

Somewhere in the wolf’s brain, Bucky reasserted himself, forcing the whimpering back. It was a hard thing. The wolf usually had reign on a full moon. On top of that, his left arm was on fire, flames licking through his veins, but he didn’t have time to deal with that just yet. He had to move. Fast. As far away from the voices as he could.

“Copy, this is Rumlow. Establish perimeter around the alley and move in.”

Focus. Focus on an exit.

There, a storm drain he could probably wiggle into. He slinked away from flashlights, using their own smokescreen against them, and shimmied into the hole, his back haunches nearly betraying him before he managed to slip inside, falling gracelessly into wet and damp. Around him, rats scattered, their tiny shrieks like so much screaming with his hearing already bruised.  
  
Bucky raised the wolf’s snout and sniffed the air before bolting off down the tunnel.

He didn’t stop, not until he’d managed to find an outlet, the grate rusted away enough for him to sneak out past the sleeping homeless man using it for shelter.

Bucky didn’t dare go back to his apartment after that. He’d been a couple blocks away when the hunters found him, which meant they probably knew. It didn’t matter. Bucky had moved more times than he could count. He was prepared for this. So instead, he pushed the wolf to a crumbling warehouse down by the docks where they could wait it out until morning shift, take the duffle he’d hidden there months ago, and book it out of town.

It wasn’t until they were inside the pseudo safehouse that he finally looked at his left arm.

Together, he and the wolf tore the silver bullet out with its teeth.

* * *

The first breath of fall finally reached Ordinary, Texas in late November. Bucky felt it acutely when he woke up naked just inside the front door of his rented singlewide—his chilled feet shoved up under the filthy welcome mat.

“Seriously?” he asked, addressing the wolf now curled up quietly in some dormant corner of his mind. He could remember the plastic flap of the extra large doggie door swinging shut and the two of them curling up right there inside the door. “We have a bed, you asshole.”

Granted, it was a shitty bed, and Bucky sometimes woke up with a spring up his ass. But still, it was better than cold tile that he was definitely past-due sweeping. Bucky pushed himself up, dusting off dried mud and a few pieces of leaf litter.

Coffee. Christ on a hoverboard, he needed fucking coffee.

Stumbling into his kitchen like some kind of streaking burglar, Bucky pulled open a cabinet and grabbedthe coffee tin, swearing when he pulled back the lid because he’d done it—he’d been that fucking asshole who put an empty goddamned coffee tin back in the cabinet.

He was showered and dressed, keys in hand, before he even really realized what he was doing.

The robot lady on his phone didn’t help him much on the first try, his mumbled “coffee” bringing up a Wikipedia page on the beverage, a few coffee companies, and a page for the National Coffee Association.

“Coffee near me,” Bucky tried again, nearly tripping over the stray black cat sitting on his front steps. It meowed at him indignantly before hopping up onto the weathered porch railing. Bucky made a mental note to the wolf, nudging it a little where it slept.

Do not eat the cat. Actually, let’s not eat any cats.

“You stick around, and I might feed you,” Bucky said, brushing his fingers over the hourglass-shaped tuft of white fur on its chest. The robot lady spoke up.

“I found several coffee shops near you,” she said. Like a liar.

There were two results. Two.

 

 

 

> _Sunrise Donuts – 4.1 stars – Open 5 a.m. to noon_
> 
> “ _Great donuts! You have to try the blueberry cake and the…”_  
>  “w _e come here every morning for the kolaches and i must say that…”_  
>  _“Good donuts with a friendly smile, but the coffee’s just coffee. I...”_
> 
>  
> 
> _Black Magic Coffee – 4.9 stars – Open 6 a.m. til 10 p.m._
> 
> “ _Been drivin a truck for 20 years and this is the best damned coffee in the…”  
>  “If the midnight mocha was a man id have everything i need right here at…”  
>  “_ _I’ve known Steven_ _Rogers_ _since he was knee high to a grasshopper and he_ _…”_

There was hardly a decision to make really, but at least his one true option seemed to be a good one. He stuffed the phone into the little mount on his air vent and gunned it toward town.

Of course, town was a pretty generous term for a little grouping of old brick buildings and a time-worn post office, all sitting on one side of the main highway opposite of the railroad tracks that had presumably made the town prosperous back when.  
  
The first thing he noticed when he got out of his car was how quiet it was. He’d only been in town for a little over a week, and even though it wasn’t the first quiet place he’d spent time since Hydra started hunting him, it was still an adjustment after a couple months in Brooklyn.

The second thing he noticed was the old lady standing near the edge of the tiny parking area, dressed smartly in wide-leg navy pants and a white button-up, a bright red hat topping off the whole affair. She’d presumably come from one of the large old houses across the tracks—all of them probably glorious in their heyday but a little worn with time. She seemed keen on crossing the street, her head moving back and forth while she waited for a break in the morning traffic.

The street wasn’t busy, not really, but there was still a decent amount of traffic, enough so that Bucky had already found himself absentmindedly planning a strategic jog.

He eyed the coffee shop, the part of him that was always a little wolfish these days scenting the beans even from afar, and then he looked at the old woman again and sighed before sidling up next to her.

“What’s a gorgeous gal like you doing all alone? Your fella stand you up?” Bucky smiled at her, nearly shrinking back when she turned to look at him. She narrowed her eyes, sharp and blue and seemingly untouched by the years that had wrinkled the skin around them. Bucky swore in that moment she’d raked over every inch of his being and passed judgement.

“And just who in the devil are you?” she asked, and Bucky was new to Texas, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t the right accent. It reminded him of his first pack after he broke away from Pierce. Falsworth had an accent like that, something that sounded far too posh and dignified to belong to a werewolf.  
  
He hoped he and the others were still alive, but he’d fled when the hunters showed, too afraid of them harming any of his packmates to risk asking for their help. Jones would probably chew him out for that decision if he had the chance, but he would’ve hated himself if he led the hunters right to their doorstep.

He turned to the woman again, smiling with as much charm as he could muster considering she terrified him just a little.

“Thing is, I’m new in town, and this street’s making me a little nervous. You mind walking me across, ma’am?”

“Possibly. If you agree never to call me ma’am again. I haven’t been a ‘ma’am’ since we gained the right to vote.”

Bucky laughed.

“You got it,” he said, and the old woman took his arm, letting him lead her across all four lanes. Together, they made it across three without incident, most folks slowing to a stop and waving with a smile. On the last leg of their journey, they got a short honk from some woman in a minivan while they shuffled across. To Bucky’s surprise, the old woman turned and glared, shoving one middle finger up in the air and shaking it at the driver.

“Oh bugger off back to your own town,” she said, the gold bangles on her wrist clacking together.

“Where to this morning?” Bucky asked.

“You tell me. I’m your escort after all.”  
  
Bucky let go of her arm.

“Jack Murray,” Bucky said, offering his hand.

“Margaret Carter-Martinelli.” She shook it firmly. “Perhaps someday soon, you may call me Peggy.”

“Looking forward to it,” Bucky said, before pushing open the door of the coffee shop and slipping inside.

And okay, he definitely wasn’t expecting this, not in a town like Ordinary. The building outside was old, likely built shortly after the Civil War if he had to hazard a guess, all faded brick and paint too old to tell what it once rendered. Inside, he expected something that coincided with the age and the small town vibe. Instead, he got something that would have probably fit in well in modern Brooklyn.

It was all brightly lit and very green. High rectangular windows lined three out of four walls, letting natural light filter into the space. Plants lined every single sill, a rickety-looking wooden ladder perched against the wall like someone was just up there tending them.

There was even a skylight, a single square patch of sun dappling the old hardwood—likely original to the building. And in that square of light, a single black cat with a tuft of-

“Hey, how the hell did…” Bucky trailed off. He was being irrational. Hell, how many cats had he seen on Instagram who looked exactly the same as other cats? Even the ones with little mustaches. He shrugged it off and approached the counter. Here, there were more plants—herbs and succulents crammed all around the register, and more still in hanging terrariums dangling over the pastry case.

A man with a blond mohawk tipped with purple glanced his way. He seemed to be wearing hearing aids in both ears. Bucky was pretty sure that’s what they were anyway, except that they were also purple. And glitter. Bucky didn’t know that was an option for such things. Then again, he hadn’t known turning into a wolf once a month (sometimes twice!) was an option for things either until it happened to him so what the hell does he know?

“Welcome to Black Magic,” Mohawk said. “I’ll be right with you.”

“I got him, Clint,” someone else said, and Bucky’s attention snapped to the man standing behind the counter. Where the actual hell did he come from?

“What can I get for you?” he asked.

Bucky blinked at him. He wasn’t accustomed to anyone sneaking up on him with the wolf senses and all. He hadn’t heard a footstep, a scuffle, anything. Then again, the machine that makes the milk all frothy was going, hissing like a pack of pissed off bobcats. So there was that, he guessed.

It doesn’t help that Surprise!Barista is, well—Bucky’s eyes flowed up and down and up again without him having any say in the matter. Inside of him, the wolf woke up just enough to whine quietly with want, throwing him an image of Bucky licking all around the strangers nose and mouth like an overexcited puppy.

Fair enough, buddy. Because Surprise!Barista was absolutely stunning.

Tall and thin, his golden bangs flopping onto his forehead. He seemed to have a hearing aide too in one of his ears as well—the left one, this one blue though it didn’t have the glitter. Instead, there was a leaf charm hanging from it on a little steel chain. Bucky watched it catch the light for a moment, before he moved his eyes elsewhere. Skinny jeans flecked with bits of dried paint hugged his legs and disappeared under a forest green plaid shirt rolled up his forearms. A tattoo adorned one of those arms—a bunch of intricate leaves and flowers and some text on a ribbon that Bucky couldn’t quite make out.

“Hello?” Surprise!Barista said.

Bucky’s eyes snapped to his again and found him smiling.

Shit, those are so blue. So fucking blue. And those cheekbones, sharp as the wolf’s claws.

“Uh,” Bucky said eloquently. The wolf snuffled, probably the closest it could probably get to calling him an idiot. “Uh, yeah I-” He looked up at the menu, all of it hand-painted on what looked like reclaimed wood.

“New in town or just passing through?” Surprise!Barista asked. No, not that. Steve. Bucky had finally stopped ogling him long enough to actually read his name tag. Though, in his defense, it was nearly the same shade of green as his shirt. Tiny gold letters under the name declared him the owner of the shop.

Oh.

Bucky swallowed.

“New in town,” Bucky said. “I move around a lot.”

The wolf snuffled again, so hard this time that Bucky almost sneezed.

Yeah, yeah, I know pal.

“Well, the Midnight Mocha’s our bestseller if you like it sweet,” Steve said. “But I’m partial to the Solstice Blend. Dark roasts. Smoky and a little blunt in the beginning, but it tapers off smooth with a hint of cinnamon and nutmeg.”

“For the record, I really like the espresso,” someone yelled from deeper in the shop.

“You don’t like shit, Tony,” Mohawk said—Clint according to the name tag pinned to his black tee. “You’d inject caffeine straight into your jugular if you could get away with it, you asshat.”

“Guys, we have a customer if you haven’t noticed. Can we please watch the fuckin’ language?” Steve threw Bucky a wink, which might possibly have been the cutest thing he’d ever seen in his life, and he’d seen a baby sloth once at a zoo so he knew what he was talking about.

Bucky shrugged, tossing back a smile of his own, one his mother used to call charming and his sister used to call devilish. He pushed that thought back. He couldn’t have a sister anymore. Not as long as he had hunters on his tail. Shit, he couldn’t have Steve either for that matter. Not really.

His smile faltered just a little before he forced it back into place.

“Gonna have to go with the Solstice Blend,” Bucky said. “Owner recommendation and all.”

“Excellent choice, Bu-” Steve cringed, paused, and finished out the word, “-ddy.”

“Well golly gee shucks, pal.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve shook his head, already reaching for a mug from the mismatched stack behind the counter. “Steven Grant Rogers, by the way.”

“Jack Murray,” Bucky supplied.

“Well _Jack_ ,” Steve said, pouring the coffee with an elegant little flourish. Bucky tried not to stare at his hands, his beautiful, long-fingered hands. “Welcome to to Ordinary.”

* * *

Bucky woke during the half moon to his arm itching like crazy. There was already blood under his fingernails, his skin raw and bleeding. But he couldn’t stop.

“Fuck.”

He did his best to rub instead of digging, already making his way to the bathroom. Sometimes, almost scalding hot water could make it stop. He kept rubbing, turning to look in the mirror while he flipped on the tap and waited for the water to migrate through the house from the hot water heater. He tugged his shirt off and turned.

Up until he got shot, Bucky hadn’t had a scar since the bite. Every injury healed quickly, then faded away within days, weeks if they were really bad.  
  
The silver bullet had left behind a star-like shape in the center of his left arm, the epicenter of a map of pink lines from where the poison had spread before he got it out. On top of those, the lines he’d clawed through them before waking were almost already gone.

Steam rose from the sink and Bucky practically dove under the stream, shoving his arm under the spray. The itching didn’t stop, even when his brain screamed at him that it was too hot, too hot, too hot.

“God.”

He ran through other options. Itch cream—he didn’t have any. If that stray cat was around he rub his arm down with catnip and let her go to town. Hell, maybe he could cut the whole cursed thing off and fling it into the goddamn sun.

He checked his phone. 6:10 a.m.

Coffee. He needed coffee and to grind against that giant cactus in the back corner of Black Magic. That might do it.

Nine minutes later found him sprinting across the main street and jingling the bell of Steve’s shop. He eyed the cactus immediately. He hadn’t been serious, but-

“Hey Jack,” Steve said, sitting on his own counter, his legs dangling over the edge. His eyes flicked to Bucky’s right hand, rubbing frantically at his left bicep. The cotton material of his shirt wasn’t doing it for him. Why the fuck didn’t he own more shirts woven out of steel wool? Wait, did they make those? He would buy twenty if they made those.

“Coffee. Your call,” Bucky said, taking another look at the cactus. God, he was really gonna ask this, wasn’t he? “And can-”

Steve hopped down, a steaming mug already in his hand, a small glass jar in the other.

“Did you have that ready before I got here?” Bucky asked.

Steve unscrewed the lid on the jar.

“Alright, jacket off. Sleeve up.”  
  
“What?”

“Sleeve up.” Steve repeated.

“I… Is there a back room somewhere?”

“Bu- Buddy, there’s no one here.”

Bucky glanced at Clint, leaning against the cabinet behind the counter and then at Tony, tinkering with a mountain of gears and circuit boards in his usual booth. And then, for some reason, he also glanced at the cat, asleep on one of the stools near the counter.

Steve rolled his eyes but jerked his head toward the bathroom door.

Bucky followed him, shrugging out of his hoodie and his tee shirt the second they slipped inside. Steve shoved his fingers in the jar, scooping out a generous glob of whatever green goo was inside.

The second he touched it to Bucky’s arm, Bucky nearly melted onto the floor. His entire body shuddered, an almost-obscene sigh rushing out of his lips.

The relief was instant, the itch cooling everywhere Steve put the goo.

“What the fuck is that stuff?” Bucky asked. He didn’t care where it came from, what was in it, or what it cost. He was going to buy a 50 gallon bucket and bathe in it.

“Just a little salve I make from some of the plants.”

“Can you make more? I’ll buy it. Whatever you want for it, Steve, I’m not joking. You want a million dollars? I will rob Wells fucking Fargo tomorrow.”

“Accident?” Steve asked, gently stroking his thumb over the worst of the scarring. Bucky could have told him then. Not the truth but sort of the truth anyway. But years of moving and running had made him paranoid.

“Depends on who you ask, I guess.”

“Hmm.” Steve put the lid back on the jar, and Bucky watched—oh he watched alright—while those gorgeous blue eyes did a quick little flicker over his bare chest and abs, Steve’s tongue quickly darting out to wet his lips. Good God, he was gonna sue someone for that shit.

The wolf whimpered and Bucky’s cheeks burned.

“Well, Jack, your coffee’s gonna get cold,” Steve said, pressing the rest of the small jar into his palm. “And you can come here for this whenever you need it. I don’t charge for this stuff. Health is a right, not a commodity.”

Bucky nodded and found his brain moving toward a dangerous line of thinking.

Together, he and Steve slipped out of the bathroom.

* * *

It didn’t take long for Bucky to start going to the coffee shop unprompted by empty coffee tins or an ungodly itch. For one, Steve and Clint both made a fantastic cup of coffee. For two, Bucky was maybe a little bit infatuated.

But also, he just liked it there. There was something about the place that put him at ease. He felt safe and comfortable surrounded by Steve and his friends and an entire forest of greenery. Which is why he found himself in the coffee shop on a crisp January morning. Christmas and the New Year had come and gone with a lot of holiday-themed coffees and gingerbread scones. Somewhere in all of that, he’d become a regular, just like Tony, Sam, Natasha, and the cat.

“You take good care of this young man, Steven. He’s a rather good egg,” Peggy said, poking her head in before she set off toward the library or the hair salon or whatever ultimate destination she’d decided on that morning. That was another habit he’d formed—walking Mrs. Peggy across the main street. Sometimes, he swore she waited for his car before she set off out of her home.

“Anything for my best girl,” Steve said with a smile. “So what’ll it be, Jack? I’m thinking you look like a cup of Midsummer Moon this morning.”

“Well, Stevie, I trust your judge-”

“Holy fuck, Stark!” Clint cringed, joined not long after by Steve, Bucky, and Natasha.

“Tony, what the shit?” Steve winced. Both he and Clint reached for their hearing aids. Bucky and Natasha covered their ears. Inside, the wolf whined, the high pitch sound needling at its sensitive hearing. Bucky was inclined to agree.

He felt like that black gooey thing in that movie he’d rented last week.

“Uh?” Sam asked, sitting at the counter surrounded by a spread of well-worn Tarot cards. He and the perpetrator of The Noise seemed to be the only ones not affected.

“Tony, you have until about now to turn that off before something very unpleasant happens to you,” Natasha said, and Bucky squinted at her. He figured the high frequency was affecting the electronics in Clint and Steve’s hearing aids or something, and he _knew_ why he was in pain, but he had no explanation for her.

Maybe it wasn’t _that_ high and she just had good hearing for her age. But still, Christ. Bucky tried to press his palms harder against the sides of his head.

The noise stopped about as suddenly as it had started, Clint standing over Tony’s booth with an honest-to-God hammer, still beating at whatever had offended all of them.

“Well, that sucked,” Clint said, finally stopping when all that was left was shattered plastic and a cracked circuit board.

“Sure, sure, just smash it to pieces. It only took me three weeks to put together,” Tony said. “No big loss.”

“The next build will be better anyway,” Sam said, picking up cards and reshuffling them.

“Psychic’s honor?” Tony asked.

“The cards don’t lie, man,” Sam said. “But they actually didn’t say shit about any of this. I just know you.”

“Then what did they say?” Natasha asked, working on a blueberry scone and a glass of milk.

“That I’d soon find myself in the company of a strong, intelligent woman.”

“Damn, they’re good.” Natasha smirked.

“Jack, you wanna?” Sam asked, sliding into the chair across from him with the deck.

“Oh, uh, what do I do?” Bucky asked, throwing Steve a smile and accepting a steaming mug. He took a sip and sighed. Honestly, he should just stop buying coffee for his house altogether.

“Think of a question and touch the deck.”

The question popped into Bucky’s head before he even really thought about it. With what felt like too little fanfare for the secrets of the universe or whatever, he reached out and rested his fingers on the top card of Sam’s deck before letting them slide off, brushing against the sides.

With a small smile, Sam started a spread. Bucky kept drinking his coffee, unable to keep his eyes from straying behind the counter more than once. He was positive no one in the history of the universe had ever put scones in a pastry case quite as adorably.

“Hmm,” Sam said. He turned over an extra card. And then another. And then another still. “Hmm.”

“What is it? Yes? No? Ask again later?”

“Did you really ask my damn cards a yes or no question?”

“Uh…”

“You idiot.” Sam frowned and turned over another one.

“I can try again.”

“Like hell you can. For future reference, don’t ask cards yes or no questions.”

“Right, because cards are so bad at decisions?” Bucky took another sip. God, it really was exactly what he needed. Or it felt like it anyway.

“I hate you.” Sam looked up. “But to answer your ridiculous question, maybe.”

Bucky snorted and looked back down at his mug. Of course it was a maybe. He tried to keep an open mind about the local psychic and his cards given that his view of reality had been forcefully expanded, but he was still skeptical. Seemed he’d been right to be.

“Thing is, you can’t run this time,” Sam continued. And Bucky’s eyes shot back up. Wait.  
  
But no, of course that was an easy guess too. He’d admitted to moving around a lot. People who moved around a lot were usually running from something.

“They’re gonna come, and a lot sooner than you’d like,” Sam said. “Don’t suppose you’ll tell me who exactly they are. Would probably make it easier for me to-”

“No.”

“Hmm.”

“No,” Bucky repeated.

“Well, they are coming, and you can’t run this time. Not if you want whatever it is you want.”

Bucky’s eyes strayed back to Steve, who thankfully didn’t see him. But when he looked back at Sam, he watched him raise one eyebrow and glance over Steve as well.

“Ah.”

“Not just that,” Bucky said.

“Hey, I’m not judging, man. It’s usually a good idea to bark up the tree that actually wants to shade you.”

“What else?” Bucky asked.

“People have been in your life before who would’ve helped you, and you didn’t let them. If you want out of the cycle you’re in, you’re gonna have to accept you can’t do it alone.”

“Sam,” Buck said.

“Mhm.”

“Can I ask another question?”

“Sure, why not?” Sam glanced behind Bucky, and Bucky followed his gaze right to Natasha, leaning back in the chair so she could stick her face into the sun from the skylight.

“Ah,” Bucky said with a smirk.

“Shut up and ask your question, and if you ask another yes or no, I will ask the deck the best way to hurt you.”

Bucky ran his fingers over the cards again and Sam stared at them for a second, cut the deck in half, and held it out.

“Take the one on top and turn it over.”

Bucky did. On the card a man laid face-down on the ground, ten swords sticking out of his back. Bucky didn’t even need to ask Sam what it meant.

“They don’t always mean what you think they mean.”

“Well, what does it mean then?” Bucky asked.

“It means what you think it means.”

He finished his coffee and got up.

“You should say something,” Bucky said. “To her.”

“You psychic too now, Jack?”

“Nah, but she’ll either say yes or kick your ass, and I’m pulling for the second.”

“Fuck off,” Sam said, but when Bucky glanced back on his way out the door, Sam had gathered up his cards and moved to Nat’s table. She was laughing and turning over a card.

* * *

Bucky tried to write off Sam’s reading. He told himself that it was vague enough that it could mean a lot of things. Granted, he was right. The only logical way for him to keep his new home and friends in Ordinary would involve not running.

But not running would probably also involve a lot of being dead and stuff, which was, well, also not ideal.

He stumbled into Black Magic two days before the full moon, the wolf already pacing anxiously in the back of his mind. Inside, he found Steve sitting at Bucky’s usual table, two steaming mugs in front of him. And a brown candle, flickering merrily in the middle of the table.

“Good morning?” Bucky sat down and checked the other tables. Nope, the candle was definitely there for his benefit.

“Hi, Jack, would you like to have a date with me?” And oh God, when Steve smiled, it punched the air right out of Bucky’s lungs. That smile was a field of sunflowers dappled with sunlight. A slice of real New York pizza after a long, hard day. Braiding Becca’s hair-

Bucky blinked.

“A date wi- I- When?”

“Right now.” Steve sat up straighter. “Scone? On me, of course.”

And maybe Bucky was the biggest asshole in the world, but in that moment, he did exactly what Sam told him not to do.

He made it halfway across the street before the cat wrapped herself around his legs, meowing loudly. Bucky stumbled, did a little hop, and then stumbled again when he nearly put his foot down on her back.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked, receiving an extremely large meow in response. He kept walking, nearly stumbling again when the cat sank her claws into his jeans and started to climb, practically screaming at him.

The wolf reared up and growled, the sound seeping out of Bucky’s throat. But the cat didn’t even flinch.

“Christ.” Bucky peeled the cat off his leg and did a little jog before they both got hit by a UPS truck. He tried to put her down with a little pat to her head, but she climbed right up his jeans again, yowling and punching holes in the skin of his thighs. And his pants.

He peeled her off twice more and dropped her, attempting to jump into his car and go home. She was relentless, crying out and climbing him all over again.

The way he saw it, he had two choices. He could peel her off one more time and give her a little toss, enough of a head start that he could get in his car and book it. Of course, this would make him a huge asshole considering he’d have to literally throw an animal. An animal that might then climb onto his car or get under the wheels.

Or he could turn around and take her back to the shop. If the square of sunlight didn’t entice her enough, maybe the scattered pots of live catnip would.

Taking a deep breath, Bucky scooped her up and jogged back across the street. He frowned when he peered through the door and saw Steve sitting hunched over at the now-cleared table, both Bucky’s mug and the candle gone.

“I’m such an asshole,” Bucky said, and the cat looked him in the eye before letting out a little growl of her own. “It’s not that I don’t like him. He’s amazing. It’s just I don’t know how long before- Jesus, I’m talking to a fucking cat.”

Bucky reached for the door handle, the wolf inside of him tucking its tail between its legs.

“Oh,” Steve said. “Hey.”

“Your cat, uh, I didn’t want her to get hurt.” He sat the cat down on the floor and watched her traipse away before flopping down in the sunlight square.

“Right.”

A pause. Bucky looked up to find Clint focusing intently on wiping down the nearest table. Sam seemed fully engrossed in a copy of the local newspaper despite the fact that it was upside-down. Tony stared openly, cocking one eyebrow when Bucky looked at him.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt either,” Bucky said.

“Sure.” Steve stood up and made his way back behind the counter where he filled up a paper cup and thrust it at Bucky. “Have a nice day.”

“Steve.”

“I think he said bye, Barnes,” Natasha said from somewhere behind him, and Bucky spun on his heel. Where the hell had she come from? She looked up from examining her long nails and gave him a curt smile.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Well, I’ll think about it Stevie. And if you still want to when I- Bye.”

He took the coffee and walked back to his car. As usual, the first sip was perfect. Bucky didn’t finish it.

* * *

The stray cat was back, chirping at him from empty window box outside Bucky’s kitchen, and Bucky was starting to get suspicious. Enough that he found himself Googling the average running speed of domestic cats and the mileage to town. 

It was that or keep gouging at his arm with his fingernails.

He hadn’t been back to Black Magic in three weeks, which meant he’d been subsisting on Maxwell House. He’d been okay with that. He’d much rather have one of Steve’s blends, sure, but he could get by on subpar coffee if it meant avoiding his problems.

But now he was out of Steve’s salve, and that was a problem.

Aggressively hitting the lock screen on his phone and dropping it on the counter, he threw open the kitchen window.

“Get in here,” he said, already wondering if he had a cheese grater and if the cat would even realize what he was doing. He settled for distracting himself again, digging through the fridge and cabinets for something a cat could eat.

He ended up opening up a dusty can of pumpkin puree that had been in the place when he moved in and was somehow still in date. The cat licked at it happily while his eyes went frantically back and forth between his utensils drawer and his keys hanging on the wall.

He swore loudly when his phone rang.

“What?” he snapped. Not like anyone had his number anyway. Hell, it was probably some robocall trying to sell him life insurance or the latest racist politician.

“Uh, Jack?”

And oh. Steve sounded so…

A good ten percent of Bucky’s annoyance melted away. Of course, Steve couldn’t make him stop itching like an arachnophobe at a Spider-man convention, but he hadn’t realized how much he missed him.

Okay, he’d totally realized how much he’d missed him. Him, his coffee, him, the fucking miracle goop for his arm, him. Plus the rest of the regular Black Magic crew.

Maybe not the cat. Bucky ran his hand over the stray, her purr practically filling up the kitchen while she arched up under his palm. When Steve spoke again, the wolf made a little purr of its own.

“I made some salve for you. If you don’t want to see me, I can disappear for a few and you can get it from Clint.”

“Oh.”

Silence. In the background, Bucky heard Clint string together a few swear words and Tony’s name.

“But I was sorta hoping- Well, you said you’d think about it.” Steve took a deep breath. “I was hoping you’d thought about it and you’d have an answer. I realized that I kind of ambushed you, and I’m really sorry. I just thought…”  
  
Oh, Steve.

Still, Bucky hesitated, every logical part of his brain telling him no. Don’t do this. Don’t get attached to someone you’re just going to have to leave. Sam may have been making educated guesses about his situation, but he wasn’t wrong. The hunters were still on his trail. Hell, they could already be in town for all he knew, just waiting out the next full moon to put him down once and for all.

The cat turned around, licked around her mouth, and then nipped at his hand just enough to make Bucky jump and swear at her. But he still felt a rush of affection. For both of the stupid fucking cats. For Clint and his jokes. For Tony and his incessant rambling and tinkering. For Sam and his quips. For Nat and… the pure terror she struck in the hearts of men.

And for Steve. Oh God, for Steve.

The wolf sprang up, trying to overpower Bucky before he fucked it all up again. But it didn’t need to.

“I missed you so fucking much,” Bucky said, and it was worth every syllable to hear Steve sigh like that on the other end. “I’m on my way.”

He gave the cat one last scratch on the side of her head and then grabbed his keys.

“I left the window open for you, pretty girl. Try to only break the ugly shit.”

Then he was out.

* * *

Bucky loved Mrs. Peggy, he really did, but it was nearly painful walking her across the street when he so desperately wanted to be in Black Magic with Steve (and, okay, Steve’s salve.) He didn’t not want to escort her. It’s just that he’d prefer to do it literally any other time.

He said none of this aloud, smiling and talking with her as usual while she held onto his burning arm and shuffled across four lanes of mild traffic.

He nearly threw open the door to the coffee shop when they said their good-byes. He didn’t even bother going anywhere private this time, tossing his jacket onto an empty seat and shoving up his sleeve in full view of everyone present.

And there was Steve, rubbing on salve while Bucky stifled an obscene groan of relief.

“It lives,” Clint said, when Steve finished and Bucky rolled his sleeve back down, gratefully accepting a cup. He took a sip and vowed never to make his own coffee again.

“Jacky boy, do anything interesting while you were away? War? String of unexplained assassinations? International intrigue?” Tony barely glanced up from his pile of electronics, something letting off faint trails of smoke where he worked.

“Nah, he sat at home in his underwear and pined,” Sam said, staring at a bunch of pretty rocks laid out in front of him. Which, uh, okay maybe Bucky had done some of that, but that wasn’t fair. He’d also, uh, eaten food. And oh! There’d been a full moon. So he’d done that whole thing.

“I fed the stray cat,” Bucky offered, and Clint choked on an overlarge bite of muffin.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?” Clint pretended to adjust his hearing aids. Or at least Bucky was pretty sure he was pretending. “What cat?”

“Stray’s been hanging around my place pretty much since I moved to town. She looks a lot like the one that hangs out here sometimes actually, but she can’t be the same cat. I did the math. Maybe they’re related though.”

“Oh boy,” Sam muttered.

“Jack, can we-” Steve jerked his head toward the door and Bucky followed him outside and onto the sidewalk. They chose the bench on the corner, with the nice scenic view of the post office and the railroad tracks.  
  
“I don’t want to leave here,” Bucky said. God, the town was run-down and small and had far too many old businesses that now boasted nothing but “sweepstakes” games. But…

Bucky looked over at Steve, picking at a patch of frayed denim.

“Then don’t.”

“It’s not that simple. That’s why I was worried about—you’re amazing, Stevie, you know that? You deserve the world.”

“I never asked for the world, Jack. I asked for a date with you.”

Bucky looked around them, checking behind him and across the street and everywhere to be sure they were alone.

“Bucky,” he said, reaching over to grab Steve’s hand. “My real name is Bucky. Or, okay, no it’s not. It’s James, but I go by-”

Steve stroked a thumb over the back of Bucky’s hand.

“Whatever it is you’re afraid of Bucky, you’ve got us now.”

It was a nice gesture, but Bucky still knew that when they came, he’d have to go.

“I can’t promise you more than now,” Bucky said. “I wish I could. But I want you to know that. And I want you to know that I want this right now. So much that it’s killing me inside. So much that I’m saying yes when I should be saying no.”

“Against my better judgement, I’m going to leave Clint in charge for the next few hours,” Steve said. “While he’s burning down my coffee shop or letting Tony do it, I’m going to make you lunch. I might or might not try very hard to kiss you after we’re done eating. Or before. Or during. Or all three.”

“I see.”

“Think you can handle that?” Steve asked, turning to look at him. Bucky stared.

Inside, the wolf nudged him with its equivalent of, _why wait_?

Bucky was inclined to agree, and he reached out his hand and brushed it along the sharp cut of one of Steve’s cheekbones.

And then they were kissing, rapidly tangling around each other on the bench while the world in Ordinary went on about its business.

Bucky couldn’t help noting that Steve’s kisses tasted like mocha.

* * *

March meant the first inklings of spring—okay, it was Texas, so there’d actually been several stray inklings over the course of the mostly-mild winter. But these were the inklings that actually stuck around while the weather started marching forward toward the scorch of summer.

It also meant that Bucky had made it four months in Ordinary. It left him with a strange mix of feelings. On the one hand, he’d managed to build a life for the first time in ages. On the other hand, he’d never made it longer than six months anywhere he’d lived since the bite.

“Hey Buck,” Steve said, rousing him from a half-sleep. He slid out of Steve’s bed, narrowly avoided a cluster of potted plants, and pulled on his sweats.

“Yeah?” Bucky asked, smirking a bit when he found him half-buried in one of the kitchen cabinets, as though it had come to life and started consuming him whole.

He caught Steve when he came tumbling back out, a cylinder of salt tucked under one arm.

“Someone—Clint, it was definitely Clint—put my sage back on the top shelf and then shoved it into the corner.”

“Why would he do a thing like that?” Bucky asked, already hopping up on the counter.

“Because I ate the last slice of pizza on movie night, and he’s a dick.”

Even Bucky could barely reach the little jar, but he wiggled in there, scooting it with the very tips of his fingers until he could grab hold.

“Thank you for your service,” Steve said, saluting Bucky’s arm and unscrewing the top of the jar.

“Making something special for lunch?” Bucky asked. He’d never seen anyone cook with that kind of sage before, but he also counted his cooking skills as basic but adequate. Steve’s eyebrow shot up, but he shook it off, tipping the salt and sage onto the counter before diving back into cabinet.

“Working on some stuff actually. More salve for you. A few other things.”

“I see,” Bucky said, watching him flit back and forth between the cabinet and the counter and the pots of fresh herbs on the window sill and on top of the fridge and next to the sink. When he seemed to be done gathering, Bucky slid behind him, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist and nuzzling at the nape of his neck.

The wolf liked that a lot, so Bucky kept doing it, nosing into the baby-fine blond hairs and planting kisses to the tops of his shoulders.

“You smell,” Bucky said, murmuring low in Steve’s good ear because he’d learned that he usually left the hearing aid on his night stand when he was at home.

“Gee thanks.”

“I wasn’t finished. You smell like spring.”

“That’s the lemongrass,” Steve said, and he spun around in Bucky’s arms and pushed up onto his tiptoes, pressing their lips together.

“Wait a minute,” Bucky said against Steve’s lips. He kissed him again. “You taste like coffee.” Another kiss. “You holding out on me, Stevie?”

“Admit it. You don’t even like me.” Steve turned back around and started tearing up herbs with his bare hands, tossing them into a crystal bowl. Seemed a little ornate for making some goop to spread on itches and whatnot, but he’d never understood things like nice china or fancy pie dishes that looked like apples either.

Bucky found the pot on his own, half-full of what his wolf nose suggested was the Solstice Blend.

“I like you a whole lot actually. There’s the face. And the hands. And the cheekbones.”

“Vain.” Steve tsked.

“I can make you a list,” Bucky said. And he really could. Steve was kind and generous and a bit of a shit, and Bucky was absolutely falling in love with him. He looked down into his mug and blew across the surface. “So, uh, Steve.”

“Mhm.”

“I gotta go out of town for a couple days.” Which was total bullshit. Bucky would be in his trailer, carefully removing all of his clothes so that he didn’t have to keep buying new ones. Then he’d be hunting squirrels and possums and howling at the full moon. And then he’d be waking up naked face-down on the giant dog bed he’d bought to keep by the front door.

He’d avoided having to lie to Steve the previous month by just not making plans with him, but they’d since progressed to that stage of the relationship where they rarely ever slept alone and shacked up at one place or the other until they got bored with the wall color or ran out of clean dishes.  
  
Bucky couldn’t risk Steve showing up at his place when he wasn’t exactly in peak form.

“When?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll be back day after. Basically I just can’t see you tomorrow night, but I can come to the shop for coffee and scones and making Tony uncomfortable.”

“Well, you know that’s my favorite.”

“Anything I can help you with? Dicing? Tasting stuff?” Bucky was pretty sure the stuff Steve had in the bowl right now was only edible in the sense that it wouldn’t poison him, but the mint leaves smelled amazing.

“Are you just offering to be nice?”

“I’m offering to help you finish faster so we can do something together. Maybe something scandalous that will emotionally scar your dining room table for life.”

“There’s a pitcher sitting next to the sink.”

“You need it?”

“You do. If you’re gonna water the plants.”

“Which plants?’ Bucky asked, because Steve’s home pretty much qualified as an actual nursery if not a full blown meadow.

Steve looked up over his bowl and cocked an eyebrow.

“And be nice to them please.”

Bucky knocked back the rest of his coffee and got started. It was worth it when Steve declared that he was done and got changed so they could head to the next town over for Italian food and a movie.

It was double worth it when Steve knelt in front of the sofa and slowly took him apart with his tongue.

* * *

The exact when of the change was complicated if you really looked at it. For the brief time that Bucky had a pack, he’d been highly valued because he could do the necessary math in a split second, once he knew what it was. Most wolves, he’d learned, just knew the date of the full moon and waited around for the change to happen when it happened.

But Bucky had hardly been the first werewolf in history who liked math. And there’d been other werewolves who’d liked science and astronomy. Long before anyone he’d ever known had even been an inkling of a suggestion, they’d worked out what it is that the wolf waited for before it actually emerged.

In the northern hemisphere, predicting the exact moment of the change came down to a formula based around moonrise and moonset times (readily available now thanks to the internet), the length of the night, and the relation of the moon to (ha ha) Sirius. On a clear night, Bucky could take a quick glance at Google, step outside, and pin down the exact moment he needed to be out of his clothes and waiting on his front porch.

On a cloudy night, he had to get a little fancy with some free NASA resources. Granted, there were Web sites now tucked away out of site online that would give him a rough estimate based on his nearest major city.

But Bucky preferred to do it himself. He enjoyed it, and the accuracy of those sites was never as spot-on as his own calculations. Especially not in Texas where the nearest major city was a few meandering farm roads and an entire two hundred miles of Interstate highway away.

So at five after midnight, Bucky stripped naked, tossed his clothes into the little closet that housed his washing machine, and stepped out onto the front porch. He checked his watch—one that he’d DIY’d onto a bit of bungee cord so that he could carry it into the shift.

He could feel the wolf pacing inside of him, waiting. He threw it a few reminders.

No biting anyone, not that the wolf had ever tried. No cats or dogs or cute little bunny rabbits. No peeing on anyone’s hydrangeas.

He watched the secondhand tick, his calculations landing just a few seconds short of 12:09. With a few seconds to spare, he quietly got down on all fours and let go.

It wasn’t like the movies. It wasn’t some grotesque, horrible thing that left Bucky howling in pain. It had been that first time, when he hadn’t known what was happening and fought it with all his might. In his defense though, he’d thought he was dying. Much later, he found out that makers usually told their new wolves what to expect long before they ever bit them. Much later, he found out a lot of things.

Now though, it was a bit like uncrossing his legs or standing up. His body went from one state of being to another with a quiet shudder. He disliked it only in the sense that he couldn’t control when it happened and worried that he’d somehow lose control of the beast and do something that hurt someone.

And there was the fact that Hydra and its hunters had stolen his entire life from him.

If he could’ve chosen the time of the shift, or even if he could get them off his back, he might even enjoy it. The wolf loved to run free, to sprint through the woods with unbridled speed and power. It was fun in the way that running was as a child, all flailing limbs and unbridled energy. Before he grew up and running became more about who was faster or who had the best form or what it did for your body.

His senses became sharper too. The colors were muted, but he saw things more sharply. The first time he’d seen a single floating snowflake in his wolf form, he’d felt his soul tremble at the beauty of it. The first time he’d smelled a steak cooking, he’d nearly broken someone’s window to get at it.

(Of course, he’d also run through New York City subway tunnels with that nose, and he will never not regret that.)

Shaking a bit in his fur, Bucky gave the wolf a little control and let it trot down the steps of his front porch.

They found their favorite animal trail in the woods and started down it, the trot turning into a saunter and then a run, all four limbs moving in tandem. Their left front leg smarted just a little, but never enough for them to slow. It faded into the background behind the wind in the wolf's fur and the smell of wild herbs that reminded them both of Steve.

Gosh they liked Steve. A lot.

If they made it long enough, they were going to tell him about the wolf. Steve would probably understand.

And that was their last thought before the shot rang out, bouncing off the trees and making their heartbeat kick up. Bucky quickly seized as much control as he could, stopping the scared whimpers leaking from the wolf’s snout.

They were panting from the run and couldn’t stop. They had to stop.

It was Texas. That’s what Bucky tried to tell himself. It was Texas and hearing a gunshot in the woods didn’t necessarily mean anything. It could be someone hunting overnight, someone having a few beers and doing target practice. It could be-  
  
The tree next to their head exploded into splinters and they ran, shots ringing out behind them, burying bullets into bark and the damn earth near their feet.

Bucky didn’t even know where they were going until his feet hit rocks, then iron, then pavement.

The wolf scratched at the glass of the coffee shop, whimpering now. And Bucky whimpered with him, knowing full well no one was going to open that door.

We have to go somewhere else.

But the wolf kept scratching, throwing back feelings of safety and home that weren’t going to do jack shit for them past midnight.

Bucky heard voices, the wolf’s ears perking up.

“He came this way. Yeah, boss, I’m pretty sure.”

Bucky was already working on an exit strategy when the door opened behind him, a gentle hand on his scruff tugging him inside.

“Steve,” Clint whispered, a phone pressed to his ear. “Get here now. Bring everyone. It’s happening.”

He was in purple sweatpants cut off at the knee and a black tank top, all of it inside-out. There were pillow creases on his face, and he had one of his hearing aides in his hand.

“C’mon,” Clint said, gesturing for Bucky and the wolf to follow him behind the counter while he put it in. “Stay here. Howl as loud as you can if they somehow get in here before I’m back. I’ll be two seconds.”

He was fifteen seconds. Bucky counted while the wolf shook, both of them listening to him disappear through the door to the storeroom and then head upstairs—apparently there was an upstairs. When Clint came back it was with a bow and arrows. He had an actual quiver made out of leather. Ornate fucking leather inlaid with leaves and what looked to be runes.

Bucky did his best to make a noise of confusion, hoping that would somehow get him answers. Instead, Clint loaded the bow and waited.

Maybe they’d pass over the coffee shop. Maybe morning would come and they’d think they missed him and assume he must have moved on.

Clint let the arrow loose before the rock even hit the front window, the timing perfect for it to slide through the just-broken glass. He had another in the bow before Bucky could react, hackles raising.

“Stay down, Bucky,” Clint said. “They can pump me full of silver all day and it won’t do a damn thing. Steve’s coming. We’ve got you.”

Uh, what?

“Is that a goddamn arrow?” someone shouted from outside. “What the fu-”

Bucky heard the thump of the hunter going down. Hell, did they even need Steve?

And honestly, Bucky should’ve probably just stopped thinking at all, because that’s when he heard the vehicles. It sounded like an entire fleet was descending on downtown Ordinary just to mock his train of thought.

“Shit,” Clint said, and Bucky found the reflection of the street in the plexiglass of the pastry case.

Shit.

He’d never seen so many black SUVs ever, their headlights forming a visual cacophony, several of them purposely pointing into the shop.

“Well, that’s not gonna work for me,” Clint said. He loosened his grip on his bow just long enough to snap his fingers, and all the headlights on the street went dead. Behind them, Bucky heard three familiar footsteps stumble into the shop through the storeroom.  
  
The wolf breathed in the scents of safety, home.

In front of them, combat boots hit the pavement. Bucky heard guns being checked, clips being snapped into place, orders being whispered.

He didn’t even hesitate before planting himself in front of Steve, Sam, and Tony.

“Bucky, no,” Steve said, quietly pushing him back toward the counter. “They’ve got silver. We’ve got this.”

Okay, so did literally everyone in town know he was a fucking werewolf without telling him? Also, what was Clint exactly? No ordinary person shot that fast, not to mention the thing with the headlights.

“Tony, shield?” Steve asked, and Tony handed him a small black cylinder. Steve shook it, beams of light arcing out to form a disc. There was a star in the middle, the lights alternating blue, white, and red. “Very funny, Tony.”

“Got anything for me?” Sam asked. He seemed to be armed with a kitchen knife and nothing else.

“Duck if someone shoots at you?” Tony offered.

“Hilarious. You know, you should try stand-up,” Sam said. “It’ll give me a good opportunity to start my own business as a second-chance fruit vendor.”

“Yap yap yap. Here, Wilson. Prototype.” Tony slapped something on his back with all the finesse of a bully throwing on a kick-me sign, and Sam seemed to sprout wings made out of the same light as Steve’s alleged shield.

“Now we’re talking,” Sam said, wrapping them around his body like a cocoon. “Let’s kick some ass.”

The hunters started with bullets, lighting up the shop. All Bucky could do was watch while Sam, Steve, Tony, and Clint hunkered down behind overturned tables and waited for it to stop.

The very second there was a pause though, the four of them went to work, as though they’d been training together their whole lives for this one moment. Clint fired off arrows with a speed that rivaled the wolf’s runs. Tony fired off several balls of light. Sam reinforced the barricade. And Steve—Bucky couldn’t tell what Steve was doing, but he seemed to be concentrated on it.

The hunters eventually pushed their way inside, flooding through the obliterated front windows and door.

“All we want is the wolf.”

“Weird,” Steve called back. “That’s all we want too.”

“What if we flipped a coin?” Tony offered. “Wilson, you got a coin?”

“Have it your way, but you should know that Hydra doesn’t take prisoners. With Hydra-”

“Who the actual fuck is Hydra?” Clint asked. “Sammy, you ever heard of Hydra?”

“Can’t say that I have, man. Tony, you read probably. You ever heard of Hydra?”

“You’re all very funny,” Rumlow said. “I’m almost sorry to wipe you out.”

“It’s Brock, right?” Steve stood up, the shield held in front of him, covering pretty much everything important.

That thing had better damn well work or Bucky was going to let the wolf rip Tony apart.

Brock fired off a shot without even answering. The shield absorbed it, the lights rippling a little before settling back into place.

“What do you want with the wolf?” Steve asked. “We made sure he wasn’t feral. He doesn’t do anything but cull the local squirrel population a little. Why all this for one little wolf?”

Brock laughed.

“It’s about the natural order, pal. The world needs order, and order sometimes means getting rid of things that don’t belong. It means eliminating the threats to our society before they disrupt it, not after.”

“Huh.” Steve seemed to chew it over. “Hey Sam, do you see anything in Brock’s future that he should know about?”

“Steve, you got no idea. He really should just go now,” Sam said. “Things might get a little _heated_ for him later on.”

“Let’s stick to the next few seconds,” Steve said.

“Ah. Well, in that case, Brock, the, uh, great and powerful spirits want me to ask you if you’ve ever seen _Little Shop of Horrors_?”

“The fuck does that mean? You know what.” Brock pulled up a walkie talkie. “Li-”

“It means stay the fuck away from my boyfriend,” Steve said, and then Bucky swore every single plant in the shop burst out of its pot. Vines wrapped themselves around arms and legs. Pots of cacti hopped across the floor and swung their arms into flesh.

Holy fucking shit.

Brock wound up plastered to the old brick, ivy squeezing him tighter and tighter like a python preparing its dinner while the big cactus from the back walked itself over and pretty much punched him in the face.

Sam used the opportunity to rush forward, forcing a gun barrel upward and digging his knife into the body of one of Hydra’s men. He liberated a few more guns from the guys in the shop and then slid down to hide behind the bit of wall separating the front door from the window. From there, he took shots at the numerous men still out on the street. Clint joined him, taking a post on the other side and letting loose another barrage of arrows.

That was when Bucky realized that the quiver on his back never seemed to run out, the number of arrows seemingly always the same from moment to moment.

Back inside the shop, Brock managed to cut himself free of the vines, circling around Steve with a knife that put Bucky in the mind of Rambo. But for all Steve’s size, he managed to smash the shield directly into Brock’s face. He tripped backwards over one of his own men, the other hunter still struggling with the greenery wrapped around his neck.

In the mean time, a few other hunters cut themselves loose. Three guys edged toward Tony, and Bucky steeled himself to intervene right before Tony split into three.

“Actually you know what, fuck playing fair,” the Tonys said, and three became five, all of them throwing fists and balls of light.

Bucky watched it all, refusing to look away for a moment because he was not going to let any of these people (beings?) die for him no matter how willing. Steve had other tricks up his sleeve. He kept using the plants, vines lashing out of seemingly nowhere to wrap around ankles and relieve men of their guns.

Bucky watched a wisteria vine creep in from outside to help, gathering up guns as it went and depositing them near Sam.  
  
“Thank you,” Steve said, before bashing the edge of the shield directly into some guy’s groin. He may have been small, but he knew how to use what he had and apparently had no qualms about fighting dirty.

Bucky was watching him spar one on one with a guy twice his size when he spotted the second guy sneaking up behind him. It was Rollins. The wolf recognized his footfalls and breathing patterns before Bucky could consciously make the connection.

Bucky looked around to see if anyone was in a position to stop it. Sam clearly knew and probably knew before Bucky had. He seemed to be hellbent on getting to him, but the prototype wings Tony had given him apparently didn’t fly, and he managed to putter about an inch off the ground before they dropped him back down. It was his only way, surrounded and fighting three guys at once while Clint went hand-to-hand with three of his own.

Sam glanced through in between two of the men while he threw a punch. His eyes locked with Bucky’s, and he shook his head.

But-

Out of nowhere, the stray cat wove through the fray, climbing up Rollins like a tree and digging claws everywhere it could.

“What in the holy-”

Its claws dug firmly into Rollins’ clavicles, Bucky watched in awe while the cat shifted, fur giving way to red hair and thighs wrapped tightly around Rollins’ neck.

Bucky’s first thought was relief, and then, because shock is a very weird emotion, his second thought was that Natasha still had clothes on despite shifting from being a fucking cat, and he had some major fucking complaints about all the times he’d woken up naked and freezing.

“Bucky,” Sam said, and he found his eyes again. Sam jerked his head at Tony of all people, all five of him backed into a corner. Then four of him flickered and disappeared, the three men on him smirking with glee.

Bucky let the wolf relieve all three of them of some arms.

The battle seemed to end after that. Whoever remained standing took off, heading for the SUVs and hightailing it.

“Is-” Steve looked around.

“No,” Sam said firmly. The group all formed a line facing the front door. “Come on in, big daddy. Some of us would like to sleep tonight.”

Bucky smelled him before he saw him. His wolf instincts went wild, circling from fear to _submit_ and back to fear. He knew the truth before he ever saw the giant wolf standing in the broken glass of the front windows, all gray fur tinged with red-blond.

This was the wolf that made him.

“Uh, anyone wanna tell me why this werewolf is here when these Hydra people are supposed to be killing werewolves?” Tony looked around. “I am extremely tired and dirty and have a lot of questions.”

“No one knows, Tony,” Clint said, nocking an arrow.

Sam checked his gun and promptly tossed it aside.

“I’m out of cool shit by the way,” Tony said. “I thought everyone should know that I’m out of cool shit.”

Bucky watched them all turn to look at Steve. In the window, the wolf growled and lunged forward. Bucky leapt into the fray before he even thought about it, his brain pushing back at the wolf when he begged to bare their neck.

They collided, growling and snapping and rolling through splinters and broken glass. Both of them whimpered when they came in contact with a silver bullet casing, but neither of them stopped.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Steve said, turning and taking off toward the back of the shop. Somewhere amidst attempting to rip out the other wolf’s throat, Bucky knew he was rifling through the shelf of plants at the back of the store. These, apparently, had not participated in the battle.

Then again, what was a pot of cilantro going to do really?

“My booth is a mess,” Tony said, apparently mining his usual spot for anything useful. Sam and Nat picked up knives. One of them came hurtling by, grazing the other wolf’s arm. It left a mark that didn’t heal.

“God, I wish Peggy was here,” Clint said. “I could tip these.”

“Why didn’t you tip them in the first place?” Tony asked. Something buzzed and died.

“Forgive me for not realizing we’d be fighting an actual fucking werewolf when Sam said werewolf _hunters_ were coming, you leaning tower of dicks.”

It would have been hilarious if the wolf hadn’t rolled Bucky over, pinning him down with massive paws. Saliva dripped from its mouth onto Bucky’s chest. It licked its chops.

“Clint, here,” Steve said, and Bucky had no idea what he was talking about, not until the arrow flew and embedded itself right into the chest of the other wolf.

It took a moment, the wolf yelping and shuddering. Claws dug into Bucky’s shoulders, and he whimpered pitifully. Above him, the wolf collapsed, its weight settling onto Bucky’s body before he managed to roll him off. He watched the wolf’s breathing change before it shifted back into a man, old and wrinkled and naked with pale hair.

“Hail Hydra,” he choked out, and then he was gone.

“Is that it, Wilson?” Tony asked. “If it’s not it, we’re going to have to send a messenger to see if they’re cool with us all taking a half hour break.”

“That’s it,” Sam said. “Well, for us anyway.”

Steve was on the phone after that, informing the local police that it was safe to move in. Bucky curled up at his feet and stayed there until morning while Steve made plans with the local police chief and the editor-in-chief of the Ordinary Times.

Bucky woke up naked, but warm and covered, in Clint’s bed upstairs.

* * *

“I should’ve realized Pierce was behind all this,” Bucky said, sitting downstairs in the destroyed coffee shop with a mug of Golden Elixir. It was a blonde roast and not his favorite, but considering all of the other coffee had been blown through with silver bullets, it’d have to do.

“He turned you,” Steve said.

“Yeah. Against my will, which is apparently not the way it’s usually done. All that folklore about werewolves losing control and being dangerous is bullshit.”

“A lot of folklore is bullshit,” Clint said. “I’ve never made a shoe or a toy in my life.”

“Great dentist though,” Sam said, running his fingers through Natasha’s hair. She was either asleep on his shoulder or pretending to be to avoid the conversation. He kissed the top of her head.

“Fuck off, Sammy,” Clint said, toasting him with his coffee.

“He told me he’d lost control, but that I still belonged to him,” Bucky said. “He fed me all this stuff about wolf hierarchies and obedience. Enough half-truths that he convinced me for a bit. And then he asked me to kill someone, and I wouldn’t do it. I took off. I used to be so afraid that I’d lose control too. I still am sometimes, even though every other wolf I’ve ever met has told me it doesn’t work that way. Even though I’ve never had a moment where I thought the wolf in me was going to take over outside of life and death. Then too, really. When Hydra shot us back in Brooklyn, I took charge and got us out.”

“So.” Tony stirred from his half-nap. “That thing about turning human again if you kill the werewolf that bit you.”

“Not true,” Bucky said. “This is me. For life. Also, uh, what exactly are you?”

It was probably rude to just ask like that. But it was Tony, a person who invented rude and then perfected it.

“Nothing really,” Tony said. “I’m just very good at building things.”

“You cloned yourself.”

“Not clones. Very advanced nanobots programmed with my genetic code and an AI copied from my brain, like a hard drive. Plus a neural link that-”

“Jesus, you could work for the government. Or NASA or something,” Bucky said. “That stuff is so far beyond what-”

“Yeah, well, the government and NASA both have terrible coffee.” Tony saluted him with his mug and took a sip before wincing. “Then again, it’s something to consider.”

“I’m a witch by the way if you don’t know whether or not you should ask,” Steve said. “A green one to be exact. So I mostly deal with plants. I can do a little light white magic, light healing, but that’s about it.”

“And I’m a psychic, not just a good guesser,” Sam said, leveling Bucky with a look. “And Nat’s a cat sometimes.”

“She attacked me.”

“Yeah, well, you were being shitty to Steve,” she said without even opening her eyes.

“Has that been you out at my place too?”

“Yeah, thanks for the pumpkin by the way. I’ve tried eating it with a spoon when I’m like this, but it’s not the same.”

“Were you spying on me?”

“Absolutely. Steve was into you the second he saw you, and Pierce was the only werewolf I’d ever met before you. You’ll understand if I was wary.”

“You met Pierce?”

“A long time ago in another life that doesn’t matter anymore.” She snuggled deeper into her seat before shifting into the cat and curling up in Sam’s lap.

“I wasn’t done asking questions,” Bucky said. “How the fuck do you get your clothes to go with you?”

“Ah, I did that,” Tony said.

“Can you do the same for me?”

“Yeah, no.” Tony shook his head, his forehead rolling back and forth against his arm.

“Tony,” Steve said.

“But I don’t even like him.”

“Yes you do or you wouldn’t have come with me last night,” Steve said.

“Ugh, fine, but I want a pony for Christmas and to go to Disney like you promised, daddy.”

“Please never call me that again,” Steve said, relaxing into Bucky. “Are you okay by the way?”

“I finally have a home, Stevie. Of course I’m okay.”

They all dozed as a group after that, drifting off and waking up until the value of sleep stopped outweighing their needs to not have cricks in their necks. Of course, Steve fixed all those cricks up before any of them went anywhere else.  
  
Bucky raised one slightly disturbed eyebrow when Tony followed Clint upstairs, but he let Steve lead him out to his car and drive them both back to his place.  
  
They napped and made out for the rest of the day.

The next morning, Bucky called his sister, then Gabe.

 


	2. Bonus Scene

 

Rumlow usually didn’t run from things. His daddy hadn’t raised a coward, and Hydra didn’t take kindly to failure.

But he’d already been accosted by ivy and watched Rollins get his neck rearranged by a fucking cat. There were enough bodies that he could probably disappear. And if they caught up to him, well, he had plenty of time between now and then to think of a reason why he’d booked it.

He didn’t take one of the SUVs. Hydra had trackers in everything, so instead he jogged over the railroad tracks toward one of the big, slightly run-down homes. Out front of one was an old Cadillac, an easy number to hotwire.

He tried the handle, then broke the window, popping open the door.

“Excuse me, young man, what the devil are you doing with my car?”

The woman was ancient, all deep lines and crepe skin. She had on a fluffy white robe and, inexplicably, a few gold bracelets. Her long, gray hair was up in rollers.

Brock pulled a knife out of his waistband and brandished it.

“I’m taking it, gran. You got a problem with that, take it up with management.”

Brock turned back toward the car and realized the seat was too far up for him to climb in. He huffed and reached down to move it.

“You’re one of those men who went after dear James tonight, aren’t you?” she asked. Brock swung around, ready to shake the knife at her again. Hell, he’d gut the old bitch if he had to.

“Yeah, and if you tell anyone what you saw, I’ll-”

Brock froze. Right in front of him, the old woman shifted, her body growing and lengthening, the wrinkles in her skin smoothing into interlocking scales scales. At his feet, the robe landed with a dull thump.   
  
Wide-eyed, Brock took in the red and gold dragon looming over him.

“Shit, what the fuck is with this town?”

The dragon laughed at him, he swore she did.

And then she opened her mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> I have one of these here [Fandom Twitters](https://www.twitter.com/bistarbucky) now. 
> 
> I also have a [Tumblr](http://bisexualstarbucky.tumblr.com) though I'm not there much following Loose Nips Sink Ships. You can still message me and stuff though and I'll get it eventually.


End file.
